Days 9 to 16 Read online

  Figuring that he seems pretty trigger-happy, I look down at the knife for a moment before realizing that I probably don't have much of a choice here. I'm determined to get the jump on this guy, but I need to choose the right moment. One bad move and I could end up with a bullet in the brain. Slowly, and hesitantly, I pick up the knife and start walking toward the door. I'm not certain, but I think my cheekbone might be fractured after that impact with the rifle butt; there's a kind of dull pain radiating up toward my eye, and part of my face is starting to feel numb.

  "This ain't no gab-fest," he continues, turning the rifle so that it remains trained on my head. "I don't want you going out there and trying to sweet-talk that thing into leaving. Just get out there, get close to it and fucking kill it. You understand? No fucking about. Just kill it dead."

  "Yes."

  "What was that?"

  "Yes, Sir," I say firmly.

  "Go on, then. If you get this right, I'll let you go straight after. You can just in your truck and fuck right off."

  "Sure you will," I mutter under my breath, before opening the door and staring out at the pouring rain. The forest looks so cold and uninviting, it's hard to believe that there could be any kind of creature out there, but I guess it's impossible to second-guess these things. To be honest, between this trigger-happy old psycho and one of those creatures, I'm not sure which would be the worst option right now.

  "What are you waiting for?" the old man asks.

  "How long's the chain?" I ask.

  "About ten meters," he replies. "Now move!"

  Taking a deep breath, I step out into the rain. Shuffling forward, my feet already soaking wet from the deep puddles of mud, I stare at the forest, waiting for any sign of life. The knife in my hand feels woefully useless, but at the same time I figure I can take down one of these things, so long as it's not armed with a gun. Dragging the chain through the mud, I get close the truck before crouching down and checking underneath, to make sure that there's nothing hiding on the other side. Deciding to steer clear anyway, I shuffle away from the vehicle, constantly turning to check if anything might be coming up behind me.

  "There's nothing here!" I shout back at the old man.

  "It'll come!" he shouts back. "Don't you worry about that, boy!"

  Sighing, with rain already soaking through my overalls, I decide that I need a better strategy. The most important thing is to keep away from anything that might provide cover for an attack. From that point of view, I need to be out in the open and I need to be constantly vigilant in case the creature tries to ambush me. Then again, I guess there's a chance that it'll see the knife and decide to hold back. I don't know how intelligent these things are, but based on everything that happened a few days ago with Clyde, I'm not convinced they're as dumb as they look.

  Suddenly I spot movement nearby. Turning, I realize that there's a dark figure lurking about ten meters away, partially hidden by a tree. I immediately feel a shiver pass through my body as I realize that it's watching me. Every other time I've seen one of these things, they've seemed frantic, so it's a surprise to find that this one is apparently biding its time. I can't help wondering if maybe they're getting smarter.

  "Come on, then," I whisper, daring the creature to come closer. "Try it."

  "You see anything?" the old man shouts.

  I pause for a moment. "Yeah!" I shout back eventually. "I see it!"

  The creature seems to take a step back for a moment, as if it's not sure what to do next. It seems hesitant, and I'm fairly sure that the chain attached to my legs isn't long enough for me to chase after it.

  "Come on," I call out to it. "What are you waiting for?"

  "I can't reach it!" I shout back to him.

  "What the fuck are you moaning about now?"

  "The chain!" I reply. "It's not long enough!"

  "Then get it to come to you!"

  Again, there's a moment of hesitation, before finally the creature stumbles out from behind the tree and takes a couple of lumbering steps toward me. It still seems nervous and awkward, as if it knows that the knife in my hand might be enough to kill it. There's none of the confidence that the other creatures had; this one seems determined to stay in the shadows, keeping its face hidden. Finally, however, it comes a little closer, and its features emerge from the gloom.

  "What's the -" I start to say, before suddenly I realize that this isn't just any creature. My mind races as I try to convince myself that there's been a mistake, but finally I'm forced to admit the truth.

  The creature in front of me, with its dead eyes staring straight at my face, is my brother. It's Joe. Or at least, it's his body.

  Thomas

  Missouri

  "What are you waiting for?" he asks as he gets a little closer, his voice almost impossible to hear over the pouring rain. "You've got a knife. Use it."

  I take a step back, stunned by the sight of Joe as he stares at me. His head is badly damaged, with one side looking as if it's been completely smashed away, while there's also a huge gash on his shoulder that had left his left arm hanging by the bone. Whatever's happened to him, it's clear that he can't have survived my attempt to kill him the other day, which means that there's only one possible explanation: he must have been infected by the same virus that infected all those other people back in town.

  "It's me," he continues, still staring at me. "I know that's probably difficult to believe, but it is me, Thomas. Look at me. That... thing got into my head, but I managed to fight it off. I forced my way out of the grave and then finally I just... I made him leave me alone."

  I take another step back.

  "What are you waiting for?" the old man shouts from the house. "Finish him off!"

  "I can feel him in my head," Joe continues, taking another tentative step toward me. "It's like this second voice, constantly trying to drown me out and take control. Sometimes, just for a few seconds at a time, he's successful, but I always manage to push him back. I always told you I was stubborn, huh? Turns out I'm a regular fucking genius, Tommy boy."

  "Keep back," I say, holding the knife out toward him. He might look like Joe, and he might sound like Joe, but there's no way I can trust him. For all I know, this creature has the same mind as all the others, and he's just pretending to be my brother.

  "Good," he replies. "That's good, Thomas. You're finally growing up. At least you're not a naive little shit anymore." He glances over at the house. "Who's your friend, though? He let off a couple of rounds at me earlier. Poor old bastard was spitting and cursing, I thought he was gonna drop dead of a heart attack." He pauses. "I don't blame him, though. I caught sight of my reflection in the truck window. I look pretty fucking bad, right? I don't really wanna look too closely, but I'm thinking that, like, one side of my face is all fucked up."

  "I'm sorry," I whisper.

  "What for?"

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. There are tears in my eyes, though, and although I'm holding the knife out toward him, I don't think I could use it. I can't kill my brother. Not again.

  "You did the right thing," he continues after a moment. "When I was under the tarpaulin, I was in so much pain, I was begging you to finish me off. You might not have been able to hear me, but I swear to God, I was pleading for death. When it finally happened..." He pauses again. "I only felt it for, like, a fraction of a second. I remember the first strike, smashing the front of my face in, and then another strike, and then it all went black. After that, there was nothing until I was almost out of the grave. This thing is inside me, Tommy. It's swarming through my brain and it's trying to -"

  Before he can finish, he drops to his knees, and it's as if he's in pain.

  "Your brother's pretty strong," he says suddenly, his voice sounding much calmer as the other part of his mind asserts its dominance. "They don't normally fight back quite so hard. They usually fade away and become nothing more than an annoying scream. This one, though... he's angry about something. So much rage and fury
. It's not my fault, either. His anger is old and it has become the foundation of his soul. I almost admire him. Almost."

  "Leave him alone!" I shout.

  "Or what?" he asks with a smile. "You gonna use that little blade on me? I promise you, if you do, I'll make sure your brother feels every second of it. As soon as the pain hits, I'll abandon his body and let him enjoy those final moments."

  "What do you want?" I ask.

  "What do you think I want?"

  "To kill me."

  He shakes his head. "Don't take it so personally. I want to kill all the old humans. There must be nothing left but my kind, my mind. Then, perhaps, we can complete our search in peace."

  "What are you searching for?" I ask.

  "The progenitor," he replies. "That's all I care about, and I'm damn certain you don't have a clue where I can find him."

  "The what?" I reply, poised to defend myself in case he attacks.

  "The progenitor," he says again, slowly getting to his feet. "There are billions of us, boy. All over the planet, swarming like ants, and our minds are all linked, except..." He pauses. "There's one missing. The most important one. The progenitor isn't part of the network. We need to find him. You haven't seen a six-foot guy with a receding hairline and a dirty little beard, cowering in a corner anywhere, have you? It's almost as if he's hiding from us." With that, he lurches toward me, although he stops as soon as I hold the blade up toward his face. "I thought not," he says with a smile. "You know what? This body is a complete waste of time. I'll let your brother have it back until it falls apart. But if you happen to run into a guy named Joseph Aldred, tell him we're looking for him. Tell him we want our god back."

  "You -" I start to say, but suddenly he drops to the ground again. I step back, my heart racing as I try to work out what to do next. Watching as he tries to crawl toward me, I realize that the two minds in Joe's body are pushing at one another, trying to gain permanent control.

  "Kill the fucker!" the old man shouts. "Jesus Christ, kid, what's wrong with you? I'll let you go, but first you have to kill that bastard!"

  I watch as Joe slowly raises his head and stares at me.

  "Joe?" I say, hoping against hope that it might be him again.

  He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a faint groan.

  "Tell me it's you!" I say, holding the knife out toward him. "Joe!"

  "I'm not strong enough," he says after a moment. "I thought I could keep him back, but he keeps overpowering me. It's like he's playing with my body, using it when he wants but..." He pauses. "I feel like my head is connected to something. My mind is part of... They're everywhere, Thomas. You can't run from them. Every few seconds, I get a glimpse through their eyes, and I see the whole world at once. There are other survivors, but they're being picked off one by one. You can't... I don't know how you can stop these things. Sometimes I... I get a glimpse into the rest. It's like seeing the world through billions of eyes all at once. It's madness."

  "Kill him!" the old man shouts.

  "Did he do this to you?" Joe asks, staring at the manacles around my ankles. After a moment, he spots the cut on my cheek. "Did he hurt you?"

  "He's keeping me in his basement," I reply.

  "He's out of ammunition, you know," he continues.

  "No," I say, "he's really not."

  "He is." He pauses. "He was firing at me, and then he stopped, and I saw him searching for more. I've been watching him for the last day or so. He's been desperately searching for some more ammunition, but he's got nothing left. Why do you think he hasn't come out here and shot me by now? He can wave that fucking rifle around all day, but he hasn't got a single bullet left to fire."

  I turn and look over at the old man. It makes sense, in a way, that he's bluffing about the rifle; after all, why else would he have bothered to revive me? It's clear that he'd decided to let me die, but he obviously realized at the last moment that he could use me to kill Joe. I guess he's too scared and too old to come and do the job himself.

  "I'll do it," Joe says, getting to his feet. "Watch. He won't shoot. He can't. He can't do anything, not before I get to him." Lumbering past me, he starts making his way slowly toward the house, limping through the mud. Even though he's my brother, he makes for a horrific sight, with torn and rotten skin hanging from his body.

  "What are you waiting for?" the old man shouts, his voice filled with panic. "If you don't do it, I swear to God, I'll blow the rest of his head away and then I'll fucking turn this thing on you. Kill him! Right now!"

  I open my mouth to shout back at him, but finally I realize that Joe's right: the old man is bluffing. He was happy to leave me down in the basement to rot, and he'd have used the rifle on Joe if he had any ammunition left at all. Instead, he looks absolutely terrified as he slowly steps back into the house.

  "What are you gonna do?" I ask, hurrying over to Joe just as he reaches the door.

  "I'm gonna kill the creep who hurt my little brother," he replies, stepping inside. "Family's family, Tommy boy. It's the last thing I can do for you. I haven't been the best brother, but I sure as hell can get rid of this asshole."

  "I'm warning you!" the old man shouts, still aiming the rifle at us. "If you want to get out of here, boy, you'd better kill this fucking thing right now or I swear to God, I'll blow you both away."

  "Go on, then," Joe says, making his way around the kitchen table. "Why don't you pull the trigger? That's a very big gun you've got there. You could blow my head across the kitchen, so why don't you? You're a coward, so do what cowards do best."

  "Don't think that I won't," the old man sneers. "If you come one step closer..."

  "I want you to," Joe continues, stepping toward him. "You think it's fun being like this? I want to die. Blow my head clean off. Make it so this body can't ever be used again. I dare you. Hell, I'm begging you! Do it!" He pauses, waiting for the old man to pull the trigger. "Do it!" he screams.

  "Keep back!" the old man shouts, before turning the rifle around and swinging the butt straight at Joe. He narrowly misses, and the momentum is enough to send him tumbling back. He lands hard against the concrete floor as Joe steps closer. "Stop him!" the old man screams, obviously in pain. "For God's sake, kid, stop this thing! It'll kill you next! Don't think you'll be safe! You have to save us both!"

  I want to say something, or to turn and run, but all I can do is watch as Joe steps closer to the old man. Finally, his eyes filled with terror, the old man turns and scrambles down the steps, making his way into the basement and pushing the door shut. It's as if, gripped by terror, all he can think to do is lock himself in the basement. Joe tries to break his way in, but the steel door is too strong.

  "How do we open this thing?" he asks, clearly determined to get through and kill the old man. "Tommy boy, help me! I need to get in there!"

  Spotting the keys on the counter, I pick them up and stare at them for a moment.

  "No," I say eventually, putting them in my pocket. "Leave him in there. He doesn't deserve a quick death." After all, the old man was willing to leave me to rot down there, and I don't have any regrets about doing the same thing to him. He can go through exactly the same thing that I went through, except this time the door won't ever be opened again. For what he did to me, and what he did to that girl whose bones are down there, the old bastard deserves to rot in the basement forever.

  Thomas

  Missouri

  "What's he doing in there?" I ask, with my ear pressed against the steel door.

  "Dying, hopefully," Joe says, standing by the kitchen table. "Slowly and painfully."

  The truth is, I'd been expecting the old man to start banging on the door, demanding to be released. I doubt he intended to lock himself in there forever, but he probably forgot that he didn't have the keys with him, and once the door swung shut and locked automatically, he was stuck. I'm pretty sure there's no back-door to that place and no other way out, but while I can hear him shuffling about down there, there's no sign
so far that he wants to come out. Maybe I've become a little sick and twisted, but right now, I want him to scream and beg for his life; I want to know that he's terrified. Maybe I'd let him out, or maybe I wouldn't, but I want to hear the fear in his voice.

  "You need to get out of here," Joe says after a moment. "Thomas, are you listening to me? You need to go. This place isn't good. Look at it. The whole fucking house is about to collapse at any moment."

  "We can head to St. Louis," I tell him. "If there's no-one there, we'll go to Chicago."

  "Are you kidding?" he replies. "You want to go to a fucking city? Do you have any idea how many of these creatures there must be?"

  "But that's where the army's gonna start helping people first," I reply, turning to him. "They have to, Joe. They've probably got all these plans worked out already, but if we wait out here, in the middle of nowhere, it might be weeks or even months before they get to us. We have to go to where there are other people."

  "That didn't work out too well the last time," he points out.

  "This'll be different," I continue. "We'll -"

  "I'm dead, Thomas," he says suddenly. "This voice that's in my body," he continues, "sometimes lets me see through other eyes. I've seen people all around the world, Tommy boy, running and screaming and dying. It's pretty fucked up, but do you want to know the one thing I haven't seen? Not once?" He pauses. "I haven't seen one soldier, or police officer, or anyone who looks like they're taking charge. It's just chaos all over the place. It's been two weeks now since all of this started, and the world isn't getting its shit together. Nothing's gonna change. This is how it is now."

  I take a deep breath. There are tears in my eyes, but I'm damn well not going to let him see that I'm on the verge of crying.

  "Look at me," he continues. "The only reason I'm standing here now is that this thing, whatever it is, dragged my body out of the grave, but..." He holds his hand out in front of his face, as if to remind me that the flesh is starting to rot and fall away. "I won't make it to St. Louis," he says eventually. "Look at me. I'm falling apart already. If my body was worth saving, that voice would have made more of an effort. He abandoned my body precisely because he knows that there'll be nothing left in a day or two. I'm just winding down while the maggots get ready to do their shit."